


If the world doesn't end

by Mahrteen



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Gen, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Missing Scene, No beta we kayak like Tim, Pre-Season 3 finale, but it's basically an excuse to write kissy jmart, hand holding, is this angst?, jmart, jonmartin, the unknowing is tomorrow folks, tim melanie basira and daisy are there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28740594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mahrteen/pseuds/Mahrteen
Summary: The Unknowing is tomorrow. That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	If the world doesn't end

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by and based on https://twitter.com/GangCane/status/1282204351071567873?s=19  
> That said, this took me way too long for what it is, but I hope you enjoy.  
> Please be kind, it's unbeta'd.

It was Tim’s idea.   
Spend one last night together before their hopeless mission. An Archive sleepover, kind of like a field trip, camp out in Artifact Storage, get wasted (to Jon’s protestations) and then try to stop the end of the world as they knew it.   
The consensus was unanimous, so Jon had to agree despite himself.   
His objections of “We should all get a good nights’ sleep” and “We really should try and rest” and “I don’t know if this is appropriate” were quickly put to rest by the others’ enthusiasm.   
  
Jon had no idea where Tim could have hidden all the bottles he had brought to Storage after their workday ended. He was glad to see a few soft drinks, even though he knew those would be left almost untouched, save for the few sips he’d take himself. He entered Storage and was met by a very enthusiastic Tim.    
“There’s the boss! Welcome, welcome! Drink up!” he said, thrusting a plastic cup into Jon’s hand. Jon took a tentative sip. It was good. Probably full of artificial colorants and sweeteners, but good nonetheless. He decided to try and relax, at least a little.   
  
Daisy and Basira were chatting on the other side of the small room, standing close to each other, a look of complicity between them. They turned to look at him when they heard Tim greet him, and they smiled. Martin was talking to Melanie, sitting at the table. He had a plastic cup of his own, and Jon thought it was strange, to see him drink anything different than tea.   
  
He stood there, awkwardly sipping his drink, looking around the room, feeling out of place as he always did at social gatherings, no matter the size or the company. He watched his colleagues (his friends? He wasn’t sure he could call them that), studying their faces, their body language.   
They were scared, even though they were trying their hardest to hide it. Martin’s eyes were enormous, Basira had a hard look on her face, Melanie was holding her cup with such a strong grip that Jon was surprised she hadn’t crushed it and spilled her drink all over herself yet.   
Tim was cheerful, maybe too much. Just a tad too loud, his laugh tinged with nervousness. That might as well be their last night in this world, or at least in a world that they could understand, and everyone knew it. This knowledge hung over the room like a cold damp blanket, no matter how hard they all tried to pretend everything was fine.   
  
Jon was starting to feel a familiar warmth creep up in his stomach. Tim’s… whatever it was, must have been stronger than he thought. He took another sip and walked towards the table where Martin and Melanie were sitting, only to be intercepted by Daisy, with Basira at her heels, who wanted to go over some of the details of their not-so-top-secret mission.    
But he was distracted, and she could tell, so she let him go and went back to her conversation with Basira. Jon was quite sure he heard them giggle while he was walking away, though he had no idea why. He finally reached the table, grabbed a chair and sat down, close enough to Martin and Melanie to not be accused of keeping to himself, but far enough away to not force them to acknowledge his presence and talk to him if they didn’t want to. He had years of experience at this, he was a master of the skill. He took another sip from his drink and was surprised to find that the cup was empty. He set it down on the table and almost immediately heard Tim’s voice behind him.   
  
“Need a refill, boss?” he was already holding out a bottle, Jon couldn’t see the label but he suspected it wasn’t grapefruit juice.   
He tried to mutter something along the lines of “no, thanks”, but Tim filled his cup and sauntered away, smiling his wide smile.   
  
Jon looked around the room, to the five people that were the only family he had, apart from Georgie and The Admiral. He suddenly felt a pang of nostalgia for simpler times, when he was blissfully unaware of what was really going on in the world, of the forces at work to tear it apart.    
  


His head was swimming a bit. He took off his jumper and pulled his hair up in a bun. The room was warm and stuffy, although six people could hardly count as a crowd.    
  
Tim was telling a story about one time he and Sasha had gone to investigate a statement and got chased by a hedgehog, of all things. He was laughing, but Jon could see through his cheerful mask. He knew Tim and Sasha had had a fling, a few years back, and    
Tim had never really forgotten her. He knew Tim had volunteered for their mission for Sasha as much as for his brother. The Stranger had taken so much from him.    
  
He looked at Martin, who had turned over in his chair to look at Tim telling his story, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed, a half, nostalgic smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He looked at Melanie, her jaw set and her face determined. Basira, with fire in her dark eyes and Daisy, always cold as steel. He wondered how he’d look through each of their eyes. How he was, in Melanie’s or Daisy’s mind. In Martin’s.   
  
He was snapped back to reality by Tim’s voice proposing a toast.    
“To us, and to the end of the fucking world!” he said, loudly, before downing his glass.   
The others raised theirs in response. Jon felt a pang of guilt. He was putting them all in mortal danger, and he couldn’t even be certain it would work. God knew what they were going to see the following day, the horrors they would face, and it might as well be all for naught. His chest tightened and his heart started to race. He set his hands down flat on the cold surface of the table.   
_ “Five things I can see, four I can hear, three I can touch. Breathe in for 3, hold, out for 6. Two things I can smell, one thing I can taste. In for 3, hold, out for 6.” _   
He started to calm down, slowly. He had learned a long time ago to keep his anxiety at bay. It had taken years, but it was under control now. Although he had to admit that his current job did nothing to help.   
  
“Are you ok Jon?” the voice was close and startled him.    
“M-Martin? Yeah… Yeah, I’m ok.”   
“You’re pale.”   
“I’m fine, really. Tired, I guess.”   
“Yeah… we all are.”   
  
As if on cue, Daisy announced that she was going to try and sleep a few hours before their road trip. Basira followed her soon after. Jon took that to mean that it was now appropriate for him to leave without being rude. He got up from his chair and was glad to see that his legs were not shaking. Not enough for the others to notice, at least. He walked back towards his office, planning to catch some sleep in there as he had done so many times in the past.    
  
The office was cool and dark. Jon found it comforting, with its familiar shapes and sounds. He kicked off his shoes and tried to get comfortable on the old cot he had set in a corner exactly for occasions like this. Well, maybe not for World's End Eve, just for the nights he would need to sleep in the Archives. He curled up on the small bed and closed his eyes.    
  
_ Knock, knock. _ Jon jumped, then relaxed when Martin’s familiar voice came from the other side of the door.   
“Jon? You asleep?”   
“No Martin, come in.”   
  
The door creaked open and Martin crossed the threshold holding a blanket and a pitcher of water.   
  
“I thought you’d need these… Uh… It’s cold in here, and you look like you’re not used to alcohol.”   
“Thank you, Martin. You can set them there.” he gestured to his desk, covered in papers and binders, with barely enough free space for the small jug.   
  
Martin set the water down and walked back to the door, his hand was already on the handle when Jon realised what he’d said.   
  
“Martin?”   
He stopped in his tracks.   
“...yeah?”   
“What do you mean, I look like I’m not used to alcohol?”   
Martin blushed furiously and opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again.   
“...well?”   
“I… I didn’t… you’re just so…”   
“Uptight?” Jon supplied, grinning.   
The affront on Martin’s face was almost comical.    
“What? No! I didn’t mean…”   
Jon chuckled.   
“Relax, Martin, I’m messing with you.”   
“Oh...” Martin let out a small nervous laugh “Ah… I thought…”   
“Don’t worry. Besides, you’re right. I am a bit uptight.”   
“I didn’t say that!”   
Jon silenced him with a gesture.   
“But I’ll have you know that I can hold my alcohol very well, nonetheless.”   
Martin studied him for a couple of seconds, then his face opened in a wide smile. Jon smiled back.   
“Get me a glass of water, will you?”   
  
Martin traced his steps back to the desk and poured some water into a glass. He turned and walked back to where Jon was sitting. The office was dark, only lit by Jon’s small desk lamp, that he had moved close to the chair in the corner to read before trying to sleep a little.    
  
He had almost made it when he tripped. The glass went flying and the water splashed Jon square in the chest.   
Martin paled.    
“Oh god, Jon, I’m so sorry!”   
He fished a napkin from one of his pockets and all but ran to Jon.   
“I’m sorry, I really am, oh my God Jon, I…”   
“Martin.”   
Martin was focused on trying to dab as much of the water from Jon’s jumper as possible, his hands slightly shaky. He didn’t seem to hear him.   
“I’m so clumsy, Jesus, I’m sorry Jon, I’m so…”   
“Martin.” The stern tone made Martin freeze. His eyes were impossibly wide. Jon grabbed his hand.   
“It’s ok. It’s just water.”   
Martin’s hand was cold and still shaking. Jon tightened his grip. “It’s ok,” he repeated, more softly.   
Martin opened his mouth to say something, but Jon stopped him with a gesture of his free hand.   
“If it’s an apology you’re about to utter, don’t.”   
Martin closed his mouth.   
“I said it’s ok. Nothing happened.” He pulled off his wet jumper and tossed it aside, “see? Fixed”.   
A small smile was playing at the corners of Martin’s lips. Jon smiled back.    
“Thank you.”   
“Of…?”   
“Not being mad at me.”   
“Of course I’m not.”   
Martin’s smile widened, then he looked down, seemingly realising only then that Jon was still holding his hand. He blushed.   
Without thinking, Jon intertwined his fingers with Martin’s. He raised his free hand to caress Martin’s cheek. Martin leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, with a small sigh, like a touch-starved cat.   
“How could I be mad at you?” he asked, softly, almost to himself, before leaning over and kissing him delicately on the lips.   
  
Martin gasped and looked at Jon, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open. Jon was suddenly worried he’d done something wrong. He mentally cursed himself.   
“I’m sorry Martin, I didn’t mean to - “   
Martin didn’t let him finish the sentence. He grabbed Jon’s face and kissed him hard, full on the lips, his hand deep in Jon’s hair.    
  
Jon was surprised at first, he didn’t expect Martin’s reaction and was caught off-guard. He thought he’d crossed a line kissing him, but apparently he had not, and this was new. He wasn’t used to it. After a few seconds, however, he decided to stop thinking and gave into Martin’s kiss.    
Martin’s lips were soft and his breath tickled his face. It felt good. It felt  _ right.  _ He didn't want the kiss to end, to let go. He didn’t want to have to face what was awaiting them come the morning.   
  
But he had to.   
  
He gently pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead against Martin’s, eyes closed, taking in a last moment of peace.    
  
“We should get some sleep”. He heard himself say. He knew it was the right thing to do, but it still felt like torture. Martin’s face was serious, his eyes fixed on him. Jon wanted nothing more than to kiss him again. Instead, he stood up. Martin followed and pulled him in an embrace. Jon buried his face in Martin’s shoulder, inhaling his scent, burning it into his memory.   
  
“Please don’t die, Jon, OK?”   
“I’ll do my best.”   
Martin let him go, reluctantly, and walked to the door.   
“I will see you on the other side,” Jon said, watching him go.   
A small, nervous chuckle. “If the world doesn’t end”   
“Yes Martin, if the world doesn’t end.”


End file.
